Anna, Queen of Arendelle
by Nina Windia
Summary: In the end, Anna and Kristoff never found Elsa. Instead, she returned home to marry Hans and became a queen. Three years have passed since that day and the storm is still raging. In a freezing, starving country that despises Elsa, Anna's beginning to give up hope. (Cover image posted with the permission of MitsouParker).


A/N- This story was inspired by a idea from Searlait, and fanart drawn by MitsouParker (as seen in the cover photo!) Check her out under that name on tumblr or deviantart for more of her stuff. :3

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**Anna, Queen of Arendelle**

**by Nina Windia**

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Her sister vanished into that storm.

"Shh, baby. Shh."

In the amber glow of the crackling fireplace, Anna rocks in her mother's rocking chair, her child cradled in her arms. She pushes off the floorboards with the spring of her heels; the chair creaks rhythmically. The baby won't stop crying.

The _phut, phut_ of the snow against the window panes in the nursery.

"Please, Lene. Stop crying. Just this once." A crack splits her voice. Lene's tiny face is red and scrunched and wet with tears from her infant rage. It feels like her wailing is never going to cease. "_Please_," Anna begs.

"Queen Anna-" Gerda takes a step towards the rocking chair, and Anna stands abruptly, thrusting the baby into the servant's arms.

"Take her. I can't do this."

Wiping helpless tears that stick to her eyelashes away with the ends of her sleeve, she turns away to the frosted window. It's warm inside the nursery, but outside, her country is a frozen wasteland.

Behind her, under Gerda's ministrations and caresses, Lene begins to quieten.

Three years, it's been, since Arendelle felt the warmth of the sun. In that time, the snowstorm has quietened, but never once yet stopped. Anna removes her hand from the cold window pane and places it over her heart.

"She's sleeping now, your Majesty," says Gerda, and she hands the baby to the queen, who strokes Lene's little tufts of ice blond hair. It's the softest thing she's ever felt.

"I'm not fit to be a mother," she says, voice choked with emotion.

"That's nonsense, my Queen," Gerda says. But Anna imagines she can see the flicker of doubt in her eyes.

"Then why does she never listen to me?" she asks. Her hands crumple. Fistfuls of Lene's crocheted blanket. "And the crying. She's always, _always_ crying." Anna's eyes burn again. She hasn't slept in three days.

"Your Majesty," Gerda says gently, "you should get some rest..."

"You sound like Hans," Anna snaps.

"My Queen, the baby..."

Anna lowers her voice. "I've had plenty of rest," she says, as though to convince herself.

"If you'd think about what King Hans said about a nursemaid..."

"I don't need a nurse. I can look after my child myself just fine."

There's worry reflected in Gerda's eyes. "Anna..." she says.

"You may leave." Anna sets her back to her. She hears Gerda's hesitation, and the rustle of her skirts as she curtseys. "Your Majesty," she says simply, and Anna hears the click of the door as she pulls it up behind her.

Lately, Hans says a lot of things. She'd gone through a rough time having Lene. The birth hadn't been easy, and she'd been laid up a long time afterwards. And though it'd been months now, her strength still hadn't completely come back. Hans had been kind enough to take over her duties while she'd been ill, and it'd been almost a relief, then, not to worry about those things. Diplomatic talks; paperwork; meetings- Elsa was born for those things, not her. She was the spare. As she sat on the throne, or with her ministers, there was always one invading thought in her head: _She wasn't supposed to be there._

"Don't worry about a thing," Hans had said, warm hand in hers as she was laid up, the cover tucked under her chin. "I'm going to look after you and our baby."

She'd smiled with tears of happiness in her eyes, because Hans was so wonderful to her.

"I've decided what we should call her," she'd confided. "I want to call her Elsa."

But Hans' response was as chilly as the wind that rattled the window frame. "I understand how you feel, Anna, but the people..."

The people were angry. Anna felt it, every time she stepped into the town. The looks of distrust. The deep-seated anger: the kind that reached down into the belly.

"They're calling your sister a witch," one of the ministers confided in her, speaking in a whisper in the windy corridor. "The Snow Queen, they call her."

And since Anna was her sister...

"They distrust you," her minister said. "There's talk in the town. About the whole royal family."

Better then to leave the public appearances to Hans. With Lene to look after, Hans said, she had plenty to do anyway.

"And besides," Hans said, hand in hers, "you're not well."

I'm fine now, Anna tried to protest, but Hans smothered her words with a kiss.

"You're over-emotional, love. All of this has been hard on you."

"I... am?"

"Maybe you can't see it, but you're not yourself sweetheart."

Maybe she isn't.

When Elsa left, it was like part of her went with her. Finally, she understood Elsa's distance from her. Now: it was too late.

For weeks she and Kristoff searched for Elsa and found no trace of her. As the days passed, the temperature fell: the snow fell faster. When Kristoff brought her back to Arendelle, she was feverish and delirious from pneumonia. They sent out dozens of search teams trying to find Elsa, but they returned with no sign of her, or they didn't return.

And so the storm raged on.

She sets Lene down in her crib. Gently, tucks her in. The baby stirs. Bright blue eyes stare at her.

It's like Elsa is looking right at her. Those blue eyes bore into hers. They accuse her. _This is your fault, _they seem to say. _You never noticed. You made everything all about yourself. All of this is because of you._

"I hate you," she murmurs. A heady rush, to say the words she's thought in her head for so long. Blue eyes peer at her quizzically. She raises her voice. "You heard me Elsa. _I hate you_."

"Anna?"

Hans. She didn't even hear him come in. When she snaps round on her heel to face him, there are tears stinging in her eyes.

"Hans, I have to go find her," she says.

Strong hands clasp her arms. "Her? Anna, what are you talking about? Are you feeling unwell again?"

But she pulls against those arms. "Elsa! I'm talking about Elsa. Hans, I have to go find her. She's all alone, and I can't just-"

"My love, we've been over this-" Hans begins.

For the first time, Anna pushes him away.

"Hans, you're not listening to me!"

They stand apart from one another, watching the other with wary eyes.

"Anna, I know how you feel..." Hans says.

"Do you?" asks Anna.

He takes her hand. "Of course I do. She's your sister. You miss her."

But Anna thinks, _No._

"You have to understand though, my love. We need you here. You're the only Queen Arendelle's got left. You're my wife. And there's Lene to think of. You don't really want to leave her to go gallivanting out into the snow in a suicide mission, do you?" Instinctively, Anna shakes her head. "Then you understand what I'm saying, don't you?"

"I... I understand." She acquiesces; sinks into his arms.

A soft kiss, planted on her head. "You get some rest. I'll handle everything. You don't need to worry about a thing..."

"Okay..."

She lets Hans lead her back to her room, guide her to her bed.

"I love you," Anna says.

"I love you more," Hans replies.

* * *

It's past midnight, and there's a stirring in the dark.

The dark mass of her husband beside her, Anna slides quietly out of bed, wincing at the keen of the sheets, the creak of the floorboard.

In the darkness, she dresses, pulling her warm woollen cloak over her shoulders. She makes one last stop in the nursery, where Lene is sleeping, for once, peacefully. She kisses the baby she's never loved goodbye.

A coin pressed into the stableboy's hand ensures his silence. As he helps her up onto her horse, he asks her, "Are you sure about this your Majesty?"

"I am," she says.

She rides out, the stinging wind and snow hitting in her face with physical force.

_I'm sorry Elsa. I'm coming, _she thinks, as she spurs her horse forward.

The cold stings her fingers, numbs the pink end of her nose. For the first time in a long time, she feels alive.

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**The End**


End file.
